


A most immoral mission

by Almaviva



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Art History, Classical Music, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Historical Fantasy, Historical References, Inspired by Music, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almaviva/pseuds/Almaviva
Summary: Vienna, 1786. Mozart's last masterpiece is in danger. The censors of Emperor Joseph II threaten to ban his last opera, "The Marriage of Figaro," which they accuse of immorality. However, the great Mozart has a powerful ally: the demon Crowley has sworn that the opera will be released. Who will come to the aid of Music, Heaven or Hell?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11
Collections: The Good Omens Library





	A most immoral mission

‘If music be the food of love, play on.’  
W. Shakespeare, Twelf night

  


### OVERTURE 

(At the church)

 **Recommended soundtrack:**  
J. Haydn: Hob XXIVa:6 – ‘Cantata Applausus’

It was a delightful afternoon in Vienna. It was April 1786. An English gentleman, dressed in white silk, was strolling nonchalantly near the Burgtheater. He wore a beautiful wig of golden curls and under his right hand he carried some fine books. After him, a servant transported some heavy parcels containing the rarest volumes that the Austrian book shops could provide. Watching this sir, one could think him a royal or at least an aristocrat, a price, an earl maybe...In any case, someone important enough to give his name to a brand of fine tea. On the contrary, this lord possessed no land, in fact he belonged to no land because he was not human. The one who operated under that lavish costume was Angel Aziraphale, a celestial power posted at that precise moment in Vienna to do good deeds...Well, in fact he was there to attend a concert.

This angel had been posted on Earth for more than 6,000 years and, generally speaking, he spent most of his time in London. But he also had a soft spot for good music and first class _viennoiseries_ , that is why he had decided to take a little holiday in the Austrian Empire. He had arrived two weeks earlier, in order to procure himself the best seats in a most expected show, the latest cantata by Master Haydn. On that precise evening he was quietly walking to St. Charles Church, where the concert was going to be held. 

Approaching the church, Aziraphale dismissed his servant and stood before the atrium, watching the wealthiest families of Vienna, as they descended their carriages and entered the temple. A concert by Master Haydn was quite an event in those days, one that the affluent, noble or wannabes could not miss. Aziraphale had little but select acquaintances in the city. Thus, he had to exchange some pleasantries with a couple of families, and he kissed some ladies’ gloved hands. He appreciated the beauty of their clothes and praised the taste of their hairdos, but deep down, he had to admit that he felt slightly intimidated by Austrian ladies. Most of them vaguely reminded him of Catherine the Great, whom he had met some years before.

The acquaintances passed by and went into the church, while the supposed English gentleman loitered, enjoying the April sun. Angels are not supposed to experiment human emotions, but after having inhabited a human body for so long, Aziraphale had taken up funny habits and thus we could say that he had bad days and good days. That day he felt particularly contented with himself. Having recently solved a couple of international conflicts by the power of his miracles, he felt that he fully deserved to enjoy his holidays.

Suddenly, the sound of a quarrel abruptly stopped his train of thought. Quarrels were not exceptional, but this one was in English, and one of the voices was unmistakable to the angel’s ears.

\- Scoundrel, how dare you? Is this why I bought your freedom? Scum!!!! Son of a thousand hellhounds!

The issuer of such a diverse catalogue of insults was, apparently, a gentleman dressed in stern black robes, wearing a striking red-haired wig. He was brandishing a beautifully carved cane. By his side, the recipient of the insults was a proud black youngster who stared at his master quite unmoved.

\- Milord, I have brought you the best tickets on offer for this evening.  
\- No, that is not what I asked for. I told you to bring me a seat next to Von Humboldt’s. You have deeply disappointed me – said the man in black sounding fearsome– and you don’t want to know what happens to those who disappoint me.  
\- Milord, I am devastated – he didn’t even look worried – but this evening’s performance is sold out. These are the best seats I could find. I can do no miracles, as you know, master.  
\- No, no, no, no…Don’t play that card with me…I could indeed do it myself but then, what would be the point in having you? Go back to that opera house and get me the seats I want, I don’t care who you kill, bribe or extort. Go and serve me better!

The servant judged it better not to continue this argument. He took a bow and left. Aziraphale had watched this exchange in a mixture of amusement and concern. When he saw that the gentleman was alone, he approached him.

\- Hello, Crowley, is that you?

The gentleman in black turned around and fixed his eyes on Aziraphale, not showing the slightest surprise, but something similar to relief.

\- Oh, thank Satan. It’s such a struck of luck to find you here. This mission it’s a bloody nightmare.  
\- Yes, I can see that by the horrible way you have treated your page boy.  
\- Oh, that…Never mind. He’s a cheeky bastard. By the way, what the Hell are you doing in Vienna. Wait, are you on a mission too? - he looked suspicious.  
\- Well, I wouldn’t call it a mission…You know. I was just… surveying the area, making sure everything is fine.  
\- Oh, you’re on holidays! Perfect! Devilish! Then you will be able to help me with this. Absolutely everything is going wrong.  
\- I beg your pardon, helping you…? I am not supposed to help you in whatever it is that you are enterprising.  
\- It will be nothing for you, and besides…You still owe me for that little job I did for you during the Thirty Years’ War…  
\- That as you might remember was part of our agreement, which estates clearly that….

But the gentleman called Crowley had stopped paying attention to Aziraphale.

\- Wait…we can discuss it later. Now don’t lose sight of that man. 

He was pointing to a very handsome young man who was walking on his own towards the church entrance. He had pale skin and silky black hair, tied with a beautiful velvet bow. His clothes were elegant, but austere. Aziraphale thought that he might occupy some post in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. 

The angel was sometimes distracted, but when he paid proper attention, he was never mistaken about the nature of one soul. And the moment he saw the young gentleman, he knew this soul was virtuous. The angel felt the form and content of that soul with just one stare, some would call it “the aura”. There was piety, love and compassion in that soul, and nothing Crowley did would be able to corrupt it. 

\- Who…? Who is that nobleman? – stammered the angel.  
\- His name is Von Humboldt and I need him to fall into a little temptation. Nothing shameful or bloody. Now please will you watch over him while I wait outside…?  
\- I won’t do anything of the sort – said the angel indignantly – You are perfectly capable of doing your own infernal misdeeds. And besides, why don’t you come in? I am sure you will enjoy the concert; Haydn’s cantatas are just heavenly. 

Crowley shot him a dark look.

\- Me? At a church?

Aziraphale realized his own mistake and his smile vanished.  
\- Yes, well, maybe it’s not a sensible idea. Anyway, I am going to the concert. So, have a lovely stay in Vienna and good luck with…Well, goodbye…  
\- Count Crowley. Here they know me by that name.  
\- What? Why on Earth should you be a Count…?  
\- Hurry up or the concert will start without you…. -said Crowley in a very relaxed manner, pulling a small case of tobacco out of his pocket.  
\- Well, yes…- Aziraphale walked some steps to the church and then, remembering something, he turned to Crowley- By the way, here they know me as Lord Fell. 

Aziraphale entered the church feeling restless. His encounters with demon Crowley had always a similar effect on him. After 6,000 years wandering the Earth, they had bumped into each other a number of times. Fighting each other was out of the question, at the end of the day, they were both doing their jobs. They both played their parts in the Great Plan. So, as a matter of fact, they had learnt to co-exist, tolerate each other and sometimes even collaborate (in an inconspicuous way, of course). They agreement had worked fine for hundreds of years, and apparently their respective organizations were not interested in prosecuting them…Nevertheless, the angel could not help feeling a little inadequate and guilty, every time he met the demon. Although, deep down, he also felt a bit…curious. 

Aziraphale took a seat on the upper floor of the church and he concentrated on the cantata. Music had the power to calm him and return him to his most heavenly self. Whenever he felt worried, he sought music. As an angel, he was immune to most human preoccupations, but sometimes we had doubts and worries. He worried about the destiny of the World, which was so bleak…and, on a more personal level, he wondered about his own role in the Ineffable Plan. When the Apocalypse was finally unchained…Would he be fight bravely? Would he be a fearsome warrior? Would they still be mad at him for having lost the Flaming Sword? Music helped him to dismiss those worries and stay close to Heaven.

The cantata was beautifully performed…but Aziraphale couldn’t help letting his gaze wander. Not every person of the public was enjoying Haydn’s work of art. The concerts were more a social event than a cultural one, and thus, everyone tried to make the most of their time. Some men were secretively talking about the political situation; some ladies were sending messages to friends and lovers by using their fans, some old priests were quietly snoring…Aziraphale’s took notice of everything and found it all pardonable. Haydn’s music was not for every soul. Then his eyes stopped on the young man, Von Humboldt. He was sitting close to the altar, in a place reserved for the authorities. He was sitting between a cardinal and a count, but he paid little attention to them. With his eyes closed, he was taking in every note of the cantata. Aziraphale felt a strange urge to meet the young man, but he told himself to supress it. It was never a good idea to meddle in Crowley’s plans.  


When the concert finished, the angel carefully took his books and joined the queue of people exiting the church. It was impossible to break through. Suddenly all those pious ladies and gentlemen were in a hurry to get to their next engagement. Aziraphale, gallantly, let some ladies pass by and waited. All of a sudden, the rude servant of some nobleman pushed him aside to make way for his lord, and the poor angel tripped. He couldn’t feel physical pain, but he felt really annoyed when he hit the ground. It wasn’t a very nice situation for a celestial spirit. Then, in no time, he felt that someone was helping him to his feet and rapidly speaking in German. Arizaphale raised his eyes and he discover his saviour. It was no other than Von Humboldt himself.

The gentleman was asking him something in German, but Aziraphale couldn’t understand or answer. His German was quite rudimentary, and besides, he was lost reading the depths of the man’s soul through his green eyes. Finally, the angel came to his senses and stammered:

- _Merci beaucoup…_

In French, they found a common language. The gentleman introduced himself as Franz Von Humboldt and deplored the behaviour of their fellow citizens. Aziraphale presented himself as Lord Fell, a wealthy English nobleman travelling around Eastern Europe. Franz helped Lord Fell to collect his books, scattered on the church floor and he recognised some of them. Lord Fell was surprised to learn that Franz knew the works of William Blake and Jonathan Swift. The young man seemed intelligent and curious. Together, they slowly left the church. Then, a sharp, rough voice interrupted the happy chat. 

-Good afternoon, Herr Von Humboldt and Lord Fell- said Crowley. 

Aziraphale repressed a gesture of annoyance and did his best to smile. He had almost forgotten about the demon.

\- Good afternoon, Count. – said Franz bowing coldly- So you already know each other…of course, both of you are English.

\- Yeah, best friends, Lord Fell is an admirable man.

\- Well, -said Aziraphale nodding drily– the Count is too kind to me. He barely knows me.

\- Will you go to the opera tonight, gentlemen? – asked Crowley.

\- I don’t think so, - said Franz -well, my carriage is waiting for me. Gentlemen, have a good afternoon. 

The angel and the demon watched the young man go, both intently, but for different reasons. Crowley was the first one to speak.

\- Look at you…- he spoke admiratively- What kind of miracle have you used? In two hours, you have won him over. I have been trying it for weeks. I’ve offered him the best prostitutes, the best bribes…Nothing has worked.  
\- And nothing will! – said Aziraphale fervently – I have seen his soul, devil, and he is pure. You will not succeed, no matter what you scheme. Now, goodbye. 

Then, the angel stopped a horse car, got on it and disappeared. Crowley took some tobacco from his case and snuffed it thoughtfully. He had the air of having some scheme in mind.

### ACT I  


(At Mozart’s house)

**Recommended soundtrack:**  
W.A. Mozart: ‘Non piu andrai’– ‘Le nozze di Figaro’

The next morning, Aziraphale was reading in his apartments. Considering that he had no need to sleep, he followed human routines quite respectfully. Every evening he had dinner at a lovely little brewery and then he retired to his rooms to read during 9 hours. He had searched Vienna's book shops for rare works and at that moment he was lying in bed, devouring a first edition of Tycho Brahe in Latin.

All of a sudden, he heard someone knocking on the door. It was his servant, an old slender man. He informed his master that a very strange English gentleman was at the door, and said that Lord Fell had invited him for breakfast. Aziraphale, annoyed, got up and put on a velvet dressing gown. He was most decided to kick the demon out of his place, but when he walked into the living room, he was too astonished to speak.

The room was literally invaded by food. Crowley's servant and two young maidens were trying to accommodate a fabulous banquet in the small living room. There were baskets full of the most delicious types of bread and pretzels, _apfelstrudel_ , coffee, hot chocolate and all types of pastries. There were also several cheeses and sausages, scrambled eggs, two bottles of wine and even a small beer barrel. Crowley, with his usual phlegm, was leaning on the window sill and snuffing a bit of tobacco.

-Good morning, Count Crowley - said finally the angel -May I inquire the reason for this unexpected visit?

\- Yesterday I wasn’t very civil... - said the demon with his most charming smile- And this is my way of saying "I'm sorry".

Aziraphale still felt annoyance, but saw no reason for rejecting the splendid breakfast and the company.

-Apology accepted - he said sitting down on an armchair - But I am not going to help in your misdeeds.

-No, of course not. I would never suggest that again…

They let the servants go and spent the following hour eating breakfast. Or most precisely, Aziraphale ate while Crowley updated him on his latest adventures.  
Not having seen each other in more than 20 years, they had a lot to catch up with...The demon had spent some years in the British colonies of America. He had received the assignment of causing havoc and inciting rebellion among the colonists. Unfortunately, when he arrived in the colonies, the Revolution was about to break out and he had little to do. He considered his job done, after giving some timely advice to the revolutionaries (“Who drinks tea? I hate tea. Let us throw it all into the sea!). After that, he devoted some time to discover the possibilities of the New World (namely, he met friendly tribes who provided him with nopal alcohol and weird things to smoke). Of the twenty years Crowley spent in America, some good 18 years he was unconscious or sleeping. One day, he woke up with a terrible hangover and he decided it was time to go back to London.  
Aziraphale had spent a quieter quarter of a century. He devoted most of his time to increasing his collection of rare books. He was even thinking of opening his own book shop in order to have a more stable cover in London. Apart from books, music a great deal of his time too.  
\- So, how was yesterday's concert? -inquired Crowley- Did you enjoy it?  
The angel smiled, with a dreamy expression.  
-Absolutely. You know, with Haydn's music, I feel close to... -he pointed upward with his cup of hot chocolate.  
Crowley looked revolted.  
\- Really? It sounds mortally boring.  
\- Oh, don't be so narrow-minded. I tell you, after Master Bach, Haydn is the best composer alive.  
\- Hmmm… -made Crowley - Of course… You are the expert, but I've lived some months in Vienna and there is a young bloke who is the rage right now. He's called Wolfgang Mozart, and I happen to know him personally. You should hear him play, he’s “celestial”, “touched by God’s hand” …call it whatever you want.  
Aziraphale looked sceptical. 

\- I've heard of that Mozart...He used to be an insufferable prodigy child, and a  
sacrilegious thief too. When in Rome, he copied the Miserere, and as you might know it is a sacred piece which can only be played at the Sistine Chapel.

Crowley smiled, trying to sound conciliatory. 

-Can you blame him for being a genius with an outstanding memory?  
\- He is a _libre penseur_ , and I’ve heard that he’s joined the Freemasonry. As you know my…uhm, my party does not approve that secret society.  
\- Ah, yeah, the Freemasons...- said Crowley dismissively -I had great expectations about them. Rumour had it that they wanted to undermine the foundations of society... So, I met some of them and tried to instigate a revolution. But then I discovered all they wanted to bring about was Justice, Peace and Reason. What a bunch of twats! Big disappointment!  
\- Well, anyway, that Mozart is not the kind of acquaintance I am supposed to…  
\- But you should meet him...He has a lovely wife: Constance; she sings like the angels...well you know what I mean. Nice kids....and besides... - Crowley offered the angel his most persuasive smile - As a musical connoisseur, you can’t miss the opportunity. What would they say in London if they knew you came to Vienna and refused the opportunity to listen to Mozart?  
Aziraphale looked unhappy.  
-I guess…It would do no harm to pay him a visit...- he said hesitantly- I could, you know...Inspire him to resume the virtuous ways. Maybe instil some fear of God in him.  
Count Crowley punched the table excitedly and some Turkish dates jumped off, scattered on the carpet. The demon was smiling frankly now.  
\- Perfect, angel. Virtue, good deeds, that's your thing… You are going to adore his music. Now he his composing an opera in Italian, it’s called “ _Le nozze di Figaro_ ”. I think it means “Figaro’s nuts” or something like that.  
\- Although my Italian is a bit rusty, -said the angel with some smugness- I can certainly guarantee that it means _“The marriage of Figaro”_.  
\- Oh, does it? That’s not even funny. Well, get dressed and we will visit him straight away. You don’t need to dress too formal; they are friendly, unaffected people....  
\- What? Now? But, have we...been invited?  
\- Invited? Who cares? They are not fussy about that. Not with me, I have become a sort of family friend.  
An hour later they arrived at the apartments that the Mozart family had rented in Domgasse street. Aziraphale was about to discover just how informal a musical genius could be. They were announced and let in without further ceremony.  
The home was luxuriously furnished and warm, but there was an air of general disorder and neglect. As soon as they entered, they could see two little boys playing with a litter of five kittens, while the nanny was distracted talking to a kitchen boy. Somewhere, a piano was played by expert hands, and a baritone voice was humming some lyrics in Italian. They followed the sound, and they let themselves into the music room. 

At the centre, there was a pianoforte where the thin and sickly Mozart was playing. Sitting beside him, there was a Mediterranean-looking middle-aged man, with black curls and a thick beard. A woman in her twenties was sleeping on a chaise longue. The three of them looked like they had been up all night. Their clothes were dishevelled and, all over the place, there were a number of empty glasses and plates with food scraps. When Aziraphale realised the state of the room, he had to repress himself not to tidy it up using it a quick miracle.  
\- Ahem…Sorry, my dear Amadeus -said Crowley abruptly breaking the spell that the music had been creating.  
The musicians looked up. Mozart looked distinctively annoyed, but when he recognised Crowley, he stood up and walked to welcomed them warmly.  
\- My dear Count Crowley…Welcome to my house. Lorenzo and I were finishing the changes you suggested last week. It is working really fine, and I think the censorship will have no reason to…  
Crowley interrupted the composer.  
\- Dear Amadeus, I have come to introduce you to a humble admirer of your music. This is my best friend, Lord Fell. He has come all the way from London just to hear your new opera.  
Aziraphale was not accustomed to lying, at least not directly. Thus, he chose to keep his lips closed, offering his best false smile.  
\- Oh, of course, - said Mozart- Where are my manners? Please, take a seat, we will have some coffee. This is Lorenzo da Ponte, my librettist. He has written these funny lyrics you heard before.  
\- Piacere – said the Italian man, bowing.  
At that moment, Constanze, Mozart’s wife, woke up and was shocked by the presence of the visitors. She looked especially bewildered by Count Crowley. She bowed repeatedly, tried to compose his hair and finally hurried to change her clothes. Aziraphale had observed that the demon’s presence usually triggered this kind of behaviour among women, and sometimes among the other sex too…  
After some compliments, they all settled to have coffee. The two children joined them 

\- And so, Master Mozart, asked Aziraphale- This opera of yours…When will it premiere?  
\- If everything goes as planned it will be the 1st of May, at the Burgtheater, the best theatre in Vienna. Everything is ready, we have the best baritone, the most sublime sopranos…we only need the Royal authorisation to perform. And this, Lord Fell, means that we need the Censor’s agreement, which is proving difficult to obtain.  
\- Don’t you worry…-said Crowley reassuringly- We’ll get it, Amadeus. Trust me.  
\- Count -said Aziraphale sounding impressed- are you really helping? I didn’t know you were such a music lover.  
\- Yeah…I am sort of…smoothing things up. But, please dear Amadeus, Lord Fell came a long way to hear you play. We would feel really honoured…  
\- With pleasure! If you allow me, I will play the part we were working on. It’s called “ _Non piu andrai_ ”. But we don’t have a baritone, and my voice makes no justice to it…  
\- Oh, dear Amadeus, your piano does not need accompaniment…

Mozart agreed and sat at the piano. Aziraphale's expectations were quite low. He hadn't noticed any outstanding feature in Master Mozart so far. In fact, he found the composer childish, superficial and disperse. He couldn't follow a logical conversation for too long, he became easily bored and he kept jumping from one subject to another.  
With these prejudices on his mind, Aziraphale braced himself to listen to some mediocre composition, and he prepared his most convincing polite smile.  
Then, Mozart began playing and something in the angel's chest began to shift. The piece was a happy and light air, half mocking a military march. Mozart's fingers seemed to effortlessly fly on the keyboard. He wasn’t reading a score, in fact he seemed to be improvising the whole piece.  
Aziraphale felt lost. The music made him feel strange and weightless. It was as though a flock of swifts was ploughing through his chest, covering every corner with gaiety. He even felt a bit alarmed...He wanted to dance, he wanted to fly...Would it be too scandalous to start flying right there? He told himself it was an error. How could such a petty man create such beauty? Either it was a work of Heaven or a work from Hell.  
Instinctively, he looked in Crowley's direction...The demon had experienced an alarming change too. He was openly following the rhythm with his feet and his hands, and he had closed his eyes to better enjoy the piece.  
During millennia, Aziraphale had thought that Crowley didn't like music...but then he realised that maybe it was that Crowley's type of music had not been invented yet.  
Aziraphale felt moved. Had this Mozart composed music capable of uniting Angels and Demons?  
When the piece finished, Aziraphale couldn't help himself and applauded.  
\- Master Mozart, that was marvellous. I can't wait to hear the rest of the opera.  
\- Thank you, lord Fell. If you want to hear more of it, please come to the rehearsals. We will be delighted to have you this evening...  
There was him, helping the Great Mozart. Aziraphale got a bit carried away and...  
\- Oh, and count on me…If I can do anything to help you with the censors, I will be honoured to help. You know... as a man of taste.  
\- Yeah, some miserable souls cannot appreciate art - said Lorenzo de Ponte- They are terribly blinded by religious prejudices. It is our duty to shed some light and help them open their minds.  
Crowley seemed a bit preoccupied by the turn of the conversation.  
\- There is no need to worry about that, _Signore_ Lorenzo. I will work that out very soon- said the demon.  
\- I hope so, Count...Will you come to our rehearsal, then, Lord Fell.  
\- I certainly will. - said Aziraphale with a radiant smile.  
\- Then I'll give you the latest copy of our _libretto_. It will help you to follow the action...  
The Italian stood up and produced a thick bunch of manuscript papers from a drawer.  
\- No need to do that, -interrupted Crowley again, placing himself between the manuscript and Aziraphale- Lord Fell speaks Italian perfectly and we don't want to inconvenience you...  
\- But Crowley...I mean Count...My Italian is not as good as it used to be...And I will love to read the _libretto_.  
While saying this, Aziraphale went around the demon and decidedly took the manuscript in his hands. Crowley smiled uncomfortably  
\- Great, great...Well then, gentlemen, dear Constanze...I think we should take our leave now. We will join you at the Burgtheater this evening, if you let us - he said in his most charming tone, but letting transpire some frustration.  
They left the apartment among displays of affection from the Mozarts.  
When they were on the street again, they started walking towards Lord Fell's lodging without saying a word. Aziraphale looked elated and thoughtful. Finally, he looked at Crowley and spoke.  
-I have to thank you for introducing me to Master Mozart. I didn't know that you were capable of enjoying music like me...This is something that we...you know, we have in common.  
Crowley merely smiled, and waited for the angel to continue talking.  
\- As I am... between missions – started the angel.  
-On holidays -corrected him Crowley.  
\- Well...As I am temporarily idle...We could... spend the day together and get to know each other better...

Crowley lowered his smoked glasses, showing his snakelike eyes. He looked somehow touched.  
\- Are you sure you don't mind being seen with someone like...?.  
\- An English Count? - said Aziraphale brightly - It will be an absolute pleasure.  
\- Brilliant! Devilish! - I know the best breweries in town. Let's get started...  
\- Before that, – objected Aziraphale- I need to stop at my place to give some indications to my servant.  
They walked briskly, making plans for the rest of the day.  
When they got to the apartment, the servant had a letter addressed to Lord Fell. He took it, with surprise, and sent the servant away to run some errands. Aziraphale read carefully, while Crowley looked through the window and entertained himself with his tobacco. Finally, the angel spoke, bewildered.  
\- The letter is from that young man, Von Humboldt.  
\- Oh, is it...?- said Crowley with indifference.  
\- He has invited me to a _soirée_ at his place tomorrow.  
\- I told you he liked you…  
\- But this makes no sense, we only spoke for some minutes...I didn't even tell him my address.  
-Well your address isn't difficult to find out. There aren't many English lords running around Vienna...  
Aziraphale stood silent for a while and then suddenly looked up, and spoke indignantly.  
\- This is all your work. Do not deny it…  
\- I just thought that you would enjoy each other's company, and so, I sent him some rare books, in your name.  
\- How dare you...?  
\- I didn't mean to...  
-You are up to no good...-said the angel advancing menacingly towards the demon - Of course, how could I be such a stupid, you're a demon .How could I think you would undertake something out of pure generosity?  
\- Angel, if you just listened to me for five minutes...  
\- That young man, Von Humboldt, he is the Royal Censor. He introduces himself in the letters with all his honours -said Aziraphale brandishing the letter in front of Crowley's eyes- You have played me like a puppet...This is too much, even for someone like you.  
\- Let me explain...please.  
\- I don't want to be rude, but I have to ask you to leave my apartment.  
\- All right…STOP! TIME!

Crowley snapped his fingers and time froze. Aziraphale knew it instinctively, but he fell curiosity and so he peeked through the window in order to watch the horse cars and the people frozen in their movement. It was a remarkable thing to see.  
-I didn't want to waste your time - explained Crowley.  
-I appreciate that - conceded the angel, politely.  
\- But as you know, I can't hold this for too long. So, I will go to the point. This may sound strange to you...but I am not in a mission. I am here on my own accord. I met Mozart some years ago in Prague. He was a great fellow, a bit of a loony, but he knew the best breweries and he was a great drinking buddy. Some months ago, I learned that he was having problems with censorship, and I thought of lending him a hand. I have helped him before, namely with money. The fellow is a genius, but he can't manage his budget. They are always in debt, spending wildly...They desperately need to premiere this opera to keep afloat.  
Aziraphale looked interested, but still angry.  
\- None of those reasons are an excuse for lying to me...  
\- I was going to tell you, but I wanted to meet Amadeus first. I knew you would love his music, as I do. As any music lover will do. You cannot condemn this opera for the sake of some narrow-minded, God-abiding censor.  
Aziraphale seemed offended.  
\- Well I am a God-abiding angel and I think that maybe this censor has good reasons to prevent that premiere. I told you, Von Humboldt's soul is virtuous. He's not acting out of greed, or envy...He's doing his job.  
\- His job could change the History of Music, for worse...and I think you are the only one who can help it.  
-Oh, don't be so dramatic -protested Aziraphale- Master Mozart has plenty of time to compose other fine works.  
Crowley looked careworn.  
\- You know, angel...I've got a bad feeling about this fellow. He seems delicate. I am sorry to say it but I am afraid he won't live 200 years like your beloved Master Bach. He might only have 4 or 5 years left. And think of Constanze and the children...They need the money...  
Aziraphale seemed miserable, but said nothing.  
\- Well, now you know everything, angel. I have to unfreeze time or somebody will start asking questions, either upstairs or downstairs...  
With a snap, the noises of traffic were audible again.

\- I will take my leave now -said Crowley- If you change your mind, I will be waiting for you this evening at seven at the Burgtheater.  
Aziraphale said nothing...then, as the demon was opening the door he uttered:  
-Crowley, how can I know you are not lying to me?  
The demon seemed impatient.  
\- Why would the Princes of Hell intervene in this affair? They don't even know what an opera is. They do not understand music, because it is not a sin. An opera doesn't win souls for my Lord.  
Aziraphale looked undecided.  
\- I have to think- he said.  
-Good, said Crowley, and with a bow, he left the apartment.  
Aziraphale felt strangely empty, he wondered what to do next. Then, his eyes found the opera's libretto, he had left on a chest of drawers.

### ACT II

(At the Burgtheater)

**Recommended soundtrack:**  
W.A. Mozart : "Cinque... dieci... venti..."– ‘Le nozze di Figaro

Crowley walked up and down in front of the theatre entrance. Every other minute he glanced nervously at the street or took some tobacco. Behind him, his black servant stood calm and firm, holding a basket in his right hand. It was half past 7 in the evening. The theatre was closed, and the street was quiet. Finally, they heard someone approaching. Aziraphale appeared wearing a white ermine coat, all elegance and pride.  
He approached Crowley and said in a low angry voice.  
\- How dare you get me involved in this scandal? This opera is outrageous...  
\- What do you mean? It is not...  
Aziraphale opened his coat and extracted the libretto.  
\- Oh, damn...-sweared Crowley - I forgot how fast you read, angel...  
\- This story is utterly immoral - stammered the angel, he looked so angry he could barely speak.  
\- No, it is not, it's just a comedy. It makes fun of the sinful men...  
\- It is appalling. It shows a Count seducing his wife's handmaid; a mother trying to marry her own illegitimate son, even a page boy travestied with her lady's clothes...  
\- Oh, don't be so self-righteous! Some years ago, during that mission at Catherine the Great's court, I remember you dressing as the Queen's lady-in-waiting and you looked just...gorgeous.  
Aziraphale ignored the compliment.  
\- I have a duty to fulfil, I must defend morality...  
\- But a theatre is not a church. Music doesn't have to be moral; it has to be sublime. You cannot condemn a master piece to oblivion because of your prejudices.  
Aziraphale looked sad but firm.  
-This is my last word, Crowley. Please return the _libretto_ to its author and send my best regards to Master Mozart.  
Crowley refused to take the manuscript and said drily:  
\- You can do it yourself. At least, come in and watch a bit of the rehearsal. It is a question of manners...Don't stay too long if you don't feel like...  
Aziraphale submitted and the two of them entered the Burgtheater, followed by Crowley's servant.  
They were rehearsing the first act. The baritone (Figaro) and the soprano (Susanna) were singing accompanied by a small number of instruments.  
Aziraphale quickly recalled the scene's plot. Figaro and Susanna were about to get married. They were both servants at the house of the Count Almaviva. Figaro was jubilant because the Count had offered them a great bedroom, next to his own apartments. But Susanna was suspicious and confided Figaro her fears: the Count was intending to use an old-time abolished right to claim Susanna's first night.  
The angel exchanged some words with master Mozart and after less than half an hour, he excused himself. Mozart and his entourage were too busy to pay him the slightest attention and Crowley nodded coldly when he left. The angel's mood was gloomy, he wanted to distance himselft as much as possible from the unfortunate affair. On the other hand, he felt curious about the music. So, he hid himself in one of the boxes in order to listen to the rehearsal inadvertently.  
It was marvellous to listen. The soprano was delightful, and the baritone was magnificent, with a thunder voice, and an engaging acting. Figaro was played as a clever and charming rascal, capable of outwitting his noble master in order to save his marriage with Susanna. It could have been an amusing little opera...If only the subject was not so immoral…  
After an hour or so, someone knocked on the box door. It was Crowley's young servant.  
\- Excuse me, milord. My master sends you a little wine and wishes you are enjoying the rehearsal.  
\- It is very kind of him.  
The servant entered, he was carrying a basket which appear to contain a number of red and white wines, and some spirits. Aziraphale chose a Porto wine and the black boy served him.  
On the stage, they were now rehearsing a different scene, with Figaro and young page boy Cherubino at the centre of the action. Crowley’s servant pointed to the stage and spoke.  
\- Milord, kindly listen to this part. Figaro is going to sing his aria. I think milord will find it superb.  
Aziraphale found it surprising to be thus instructed by a servant, but followed the advice. The aria was, in fact, uplifting, and the angel recognized the piece he had listened to at Mozarts house. Together, the black boy and the disguised angel, listened to the music transfixed. After the aria was finished, Aziraphale seemed to wake up from a daydream and smiled at the boy.  
-What is your name, young man?  
-Solomon, milord.  
-You seem very well educated.  
\- Thank you, milord. I owe it all to Count Crowley.  
\- How did you enter his service?  
\- I was a slave, born and raised in West Virginia. Count Crowley found me when I was only 13 years old and bought my liberty. This is how I became his domestic. He said that he preferred a black servant because those of my race don’t have souls and this saves a lot of paperwork...  
Aziraphale smiled, recognizing Crowley's sense of humour.  
\- But you have a soul, Solomon -said the angel- It is evident for me.  
\- I know -said the boy, with the pride of someone who needs no external confirmation - If there is a God who created us, he made us all equal and he wanted no slavery or oppression for us...Slavery was invented by men.  
\- How did you learn to appreciate music? Did Count Crowley teach you?  
\- Thanks to him I have been able to teach myself. We have travelled around the Continent: Paris, Rome, Spain, even Egypt…He is such a powerful...man.  
The boy pronounced the last word in a way that alarmed the angel. Had Crowley let the boy into his secret?  
\- What do you think about this opera? - inquired Aziraphale to change the subject- Don’t you think it is immoral?  
\- I don't think so, milord - answered the boy serving him more Porto - An intelligent man like milord will see that this opera is not about the desires of a lusty Count. Or about how his servants’ scheme to thwart his plans...  
Aziraphale looked at him blankly.  
-Then, my dear boy, what do you think this story is about?  
Solomon smiled enigmatically.  
-If you ask my opinion, milord, the subject of this story is freedom. The fight of humanity to free themselves from tyranny…The Count of Almaviva represents all the tyrants of this Old World: the aristocracy, the kings, the Church…Whereas Figaro and Susanna represent us, the commoners, trying to build a New World where all men and women will be equal.  
Aziraphale looked dumbfound by the speech. He said nothing, and looked gravely at the stage.

It was past midnight when the opera’s troupe left the theatre, laughing and arguing heatedly. It looked as though wine had accompanied them during the rehearsal.  
Crowley was among them, chattering animatedly with Lorenzo da Ponte.  
\- _Signore_ Lorenzo, take out that verse about the villainy of the aristocrats…And avoid too much innuendo in the final scene…That will help us with the censorship…  
\- But, dear Count, that scene is everything…The public wants to see the Count trying to possess Susanna in the secrecy of the garden…but holding the Countess instead. The public will adore it…It’s pure _joie de vivre_.  
\- Yeah, yeah, I know lust will help you sell tickets, signore Lorenzo…but don’t overdo it. Just holding hands, things like that…  
Then, the demon stopped abruptly. In the middle of the street, glowing under the moonlight there was Aziraphale. His face was serious and urgent, he was clearly waiting for Crowley.  
The demon wished good night to the librettist in a very uncivil manner, and he went to meet the angel. The latest looked torn apart by some internal fight.  
\- I will do it – said the angel- I will help you.  
Crowley was lost for words.  
\- But I won’t do anything dishonest…-continued Aziraphale.  
\- Oh, I don’t think you could, angel.

### ACT III

(At Von Humboldt’s _soirée_ )

**Recommended soundtrack:**  
G.F. Handel - Sarabande in D minor (for string quartet)  
Pietro Nardini – Quartet for strings no 1 in A major

Franz Von Humboldt lived in a country house in the outskirts of Vienna. As the only alive descendant of a very old family, he had been burdened with all the riches and the duties of his honourable ancestors. He had been brought up by tutors and clergymen, and he was accustomed to being surrounded by older men. He rarely shared his leisure with young men or damsels of her age. He felt more at ease in his library, reading or playing his harpsichord. 

Franz loved music and, as far as possible, he tried to favour those musicians he liked. That night he gave a soirée, with only a select group of acquaintances, and he had hired a string quartet to play some of his favourite pieces.  
Aziraphale arrived to the party in a rented horse car at 7 in the evening. He wore exquisite blue silk robes and a new wig of white curls, which reminded vaguely of a yummy wedding cake. He felt unsecure about what was going to happen, but he tried not to overthink.  
As he was announced to the great hall, as Lord Fell, he tried to take in the atmosphere of the room. There were about twenty people, sitting on chairs and couches, and speaking in measured tones.  
Franz was talking to an old lady but when he saw Aziraphale, he rushed to greet him.  
\- Lord Fell, I am so glad you could come…  
\- Thank you, Herr Von Humboldt, it was such a…surprise to receive your letter.  
\- How could I not correspond, after such a generous gift? I am looking forward to reading the books you sent me.  
\- Oh, really? – said Aziraphale hesitantly- And tell me, what…which one is more appealing to you…?  
\- Mmm, let me see. I am very curious about “ _The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy_ ”- said Franz.  
The angel sighed in relief. Considering Crowley’s inclination for the little virtuous stories, that book seemed a fairly safe choice.  
\- But let me introduce you to my guests. I am afraid that, our group having so few opportunities to meet foreign gentlemen, you will attract considerable attention.  
Aziraphale was introduced to a series of old gentlemen and ladies. Most of them wore severe dark clothes and were only mildly interested in the British lord. There was a bishop, two priests and a number of high officials at the Emperor’s court. The angel submitted to the long introductions with infinite patience and his most flourished courtesy forms in French.  
After saluting the men, there were only two ladies to be known. One of them was an elderly fragile duchess, and the other one was a younger widow, who was dressing completely in black and covering her face with a thick veil. There was something about this widow which made Aziraphale feel unease. He had the sneaking suspicion that she was no widow, or even human at all.  
\- Countess Von Krahl - said Franz – I have the honour to introduce you to Lord Fell, he is a gentleman and a scholar from the Kingdom of England.  
\- Lord Fell - said the woman, offering her gloved hand to be kissed.  
He took her hand apprehensively, and brought his lips close just enough to keep up appearances. Under the veil, the woman looked languid but beautiful, with mother of pearl skin and reddish curls escaping the headdress. Her eyes were low, so he couldn’t make out the colour.  
\- Countess, do you live in Vienna? – inquired Aziraphale – I don’t think we have met before…  
\- I seldom leave my house. A pious woman like me, must be discrete- and saying this he shot a penetrating gaze to the angel.  
Aziraphale jumped, he had recognized Crowley’s snake eyes for a second.  
\- What happened to you, dear Lord? – said Franz.  
\- It’s nothing. I thought I saw a rat, a big rat…outside the window. But it was only a shadow…  
-That means you need a good glass of wine, dear Lord, I will go and fetch it for you – said Franz happily.  
Soon they were called for dinner. Aziraphale had a seat between a bishop and a minister, and found the conversation about the impending war with the Ottomans terribly boring. Even worse, the new identity that Crowley had assumed made him feel so nervous that he could barely enjoy the dinner. Of course, Aziraphale had seen the demon disguised as a woman on a number of occasions, just as he had encountered him under other forms such as snakes, cats, dragons, harpies or elderly sweet grannies. In general, the shapeshifting didn't disturb the angel in the slightest, but that night She-Crowley's sensual form looked especially troublesome.  
On the one hand, Aziraphale reckoned that the best thing to do was to excuse himself and run away from that house immediately. On the other hand, he found Franz delightful. And the young man was looking at him full of anticipation, as if he had a lot to say and couldn't wait to meet Aziraphale alone.  
The angel went through dinner in a terrible state of mind. After some wines and tobacco, the guests were finally summoned to the concert. The night had fallen and the hall was dimly lit with candles. When the string quartet started to play, Aziraphale thought it a perfect moment for a quick chat with She-Crowley. He maneuvered to have his seat placed next to the demon's and he talked, keeping his eyes on the musicians.  
\- _Madame_ , I thought we had agreed that I would come on my own -he whispered angrily- Is it that you don't trust me or is it that you can't miss a damn party?  
The lady feigned a sudden need to fan herself and spoke from behind her fan.  
\- Milord, of course I trust you. Don't be ridiculous. I just wanted to confirm something, and my usual appearance seems to annoy our host. That is why I convinced the poor Duchess that she had a long-forgotten cousin who would be so happy to attend the soirée...  
\- You should leave right now...You are going to blow your cover...and mine. No decent widow would dress with such a cleavage.  
\- Don't you like it?  
Aziraphale rolled his eyes and said nothing.  
\- Maybe I am a solitary widow who needs to be comforted - said the she-devil, and she rubbed the angel’s calf with her bare foot.  
\- Stop it - whispered the angel.  
\- As you wish- said the demon moving her foot away- After the concert I will leave you to your own devices...But you must know something about Von Humboldt.  
He fancies you.  
Aziraphale stood silent for a while, considering the demon's statement.

\- It is not possible - he said plainly- I have seen his soul and he's virtuous.  
\- You are not the only one who reads human souls, milord. Remember that lust is part of my business. He's fascinated by the English man of letters, the _savant_... You could use that in our benefit...  
\- Out of the question. I told you...I wouldn't do anything dishonourable.  
-All right- said the she-devil annoyed- Do as it pleases you. But remember we have a deal...  
Aziraphale said nothing and moved his chair away from the lady for the rest of the concert.  
After one hour, half of the guests were quietly snoring and the others were fighting the urge to sleep. Aziraphale focused on watching Franz, who looked engrossed by the music. The angel found himself trying to read his mind...Had Franz fallen in love with the angel's disguise? Was that possible? Aziraphale never inspired love among men or women. He had been created to inspire confidence and offer protection. Generally, human beings perceived him as a fatherly or motherly figure.  
Crowley was an immoral creature, had he misunderstood Franz's feelings towards the angel? Aziraphale felt uneasy, but the truth was that he, too, felt a strange attraction towards the young man.  
The concert finished and the guests one by one, said good night and went to their carriages. In the end, there was only Franz and the angel.  
Aziraphale didn’t know what to do, the moment to leave was approaching and he hadn't even spoken a word about Mozart. But when he was about to say good night, Franz looked at him and smiled.  
-Well, milord. Are you tired? I thought we might take a glass of _schnapps_ at the library. I am a sort of night owl, I don't sleep much, there is so much to learn..

Aziraphale followed him and admired the beautiful library...In other situation, he would have spent hours devouring the volumes on the shelves, but somehow, the young man seemed more appealing to him. Aziraphale wondered if he should say something about the opera, but his celestial instinct told him that it was better to wait...  
Franz was talking about the rare manuscripts his great-grandfather had rescued from the Ottomans.  
\- Dear Franz, - interrupted Aziraphale- I know very little about the life of a nobleman here in Vienna. Tell me about your life, how do you employ your time?  
The man's face adopted a sombre attitude.  
\- My family has served the Emperor's court for several generations. My grandfather was a private counsellor and my father was a secretary. In due course, I will pursue the same career, if His Highness finds me suitable. I have been already honoured with a most relevant position: I am charged with the Royal Censorship.  
\- I see, it is very important to guarantee the morality of the arts and the public discussion.  
-Yes. I am afraid it is indispensable in these days, when so many commoners have learnt how to read and write...And, unhappy with their rulers, they want to use ink and paper to instigate revolutions... But I don't think that I am the right person for the job...I don't enjoy censoring ideas. I think that a man's writing is a window to his soul.

Aziraphale agreed fervently.  
-You are a remarkable young man, Franz. And I am sure you will succeed at the court but...Tell me. If you had no obligations and you could act according to your free will, what would you do...?  
\- Well, I know my duties. And we, the upper classes, have even less freedom than the commoners.  
Aziraphale had perceived repressed thoughts and desires under the surface of Franz's exquisite education. But the visions were vague and abstract...If he only could understand the man's deepest longings. He was sure that was the key to whole mission. And he might be able to save something apart from a comic opera...  
Acting on a whim, Aziraphale kissed Franz on the lips. The young man looked surprised, but not displeased. He could only enjoy the kiss a few moments before the angel plunged him into a magical trance. While Franz was in this state, like hypnotized, Aziraphale used all his powers to search into the man's soul. The kiss was the connection he had been wishing for. At last, he understood everything: Franz's past, present and future...All the choices and alternatives laid before him. At last, everything made sense: the man’s dreams, his virtues, and the mystery of his purity. And after a long time, kissing Franz, (or maybe it was just a second), the angel knew what was to be done.

The misty dawn was approaching when Aziraphale finally left Von Humboldt's house. He felt elated, but also afraid by his own daring. He had interfered in a human life without instructions to do so... It was a very bold thing to do.  
The sleepy servants called for a hired car, and he accommodated himself inside it. When the carriage started to move, Aziraphale closed his eyes. Immediately, he felt the brushing of a silk skirt and he heard a mocking female voice:  
\- Milord, I thought you were going to stay in that house until the end of times...  
Aziraphale opened his eyes and found She-Crowley sitting next to him with a mocking smile on her face.  
\- Crowley, you are going to discorporate me one of these day… -snapped the angel - And would you please adopt your usual look?  
The lady snapped her fingers and she turned into the thin gentleman dressed in black luxurious clothes.  
\- So, how did it go? -asked the male Crowley- Good news for Mozart?  
\- It is done - said Aziraphale coldly - Today, when he wakes up, he will completely change his life...If everything goes according to my plan, he will renounce to his position as Royal Censor. His substitute will be, let's say, a more understanding official. Oh, and I have arranged that Franz Von Humboldt will not remember either you...or me.  
There was an edge of sadness in his voice.  
\- Well done...- said Crowley carefully- but there is something bothering you. What is it?  
\- I am worried. There is something I have discovered tonight...I think that Franz is going to become one of my... colleagues in due course. I hope I haven't interfered in a fatal way.  
\- What the hell…? Are you telling me he's going to become an angel when he dies? - Crowley seemed to find the idea hilarious.  
\- I reckon so.  
\- Do you want me to kill him straight away, to be sure?  
\- Of course not. For Heaven’s sake, how dare you…?  
\- I was joking, angel. You know I never kill people, they do it themselves just fine. But you have to admit that it would speed up the whole process.  
Aziraphale still looked alarmed by the mere suggestion.  
\- It's not funny. He's going to have a great life; I saw to that. And my miracles are not to be wasted. I’ll tell you all the details while we have breakfast…  
\- Magnificent! We’ll drink to your success… And after that, I will take a nap. I've been so busy that I haven't slept in 6 months.  
\- You don't need it.  
\- It is pleasant, it doesn't matter if I need it or not. And besides, tonight I have used that widow disguise to get done with a couple of temptations. Downstairs they will be happy with me for a while...  
\- Well, good for you...I mean, how awful! – said the angel.  
They looked at each other and started to laugh. They were still laughing when they arrived at Aziraphale’s apartments. When the coachman saw them walk away, he thought it might be the right moment to quit drinking, because he was quite sure that he had started the journey with only one passenger.

### EPILOGUE

(At the Burgtheater)

**Recommended soundtrack:**  
W.A.Mozart: Overture – ‘Le nozze di Figaro’

It was the evening of the 1st of May, and two English lords were sitting in their private box at the Burgtheater. The most awaited of Mozart’s opera was about to start.  
Aziraphale entertained himself by watching attendees through his binoculars.  
\- Oh, how wonderful…-he cried out – Master Haydn is here! He’s on the third box on the right-hand side.  
\- Is he…? – said Crowley. He wasn’t paying much attention to the public. Instead he contented himself with drinking a glass of wine and watching the angel.  
The servant, Solomon, stood in the background, ready to attend them. Apart from that, they were on their own. Crowley had used all his tricks to get them the best seats.  
Aziraphale lowered his binoculars and gave the demon a radiant look.  
\- I hope the opera is a great success…After all we have done.  
\- To be fair, angel, you did almost all the work…- said Crowley raising his glass – I still don’t understand what you did to Von Humboldt. The day after our visit, he gave up his position and all his honours. And now I hear that he has left Vienna to join a scientific expedition to South America. It is the talk of the town right now…  
Aziraphale said nothing.  
\- I don’t know what to make of it – continued Crowley – How did you convince that poor man to spend five years in a ship full of stinky sailors?  
Aziraphale smiled dreamily.  
\- I only showed him his own hidden desires. His soul was yearning for adventure. And I hope he will do a lot of good works too. He might discover some beneficial plants during his journeys…I definitely perceived a medical calling in him.  
Crowley looked annoyed.  
\- Really, angel? -he said mockingly- Even when I ask you to help me with a temptation, you have to turn it into a good deed?  
Aziraphale shrugged.  
\- I am what I am.  
\- Well, I have a gift for you…-said Crowley- To thank you for your help.  
\- Don’t be absurd, I didn’t do it for you. I think the World deserves to hear every possible bit of Mozart’s work…  
\- Anyway, you came all the way from London…  
\- What do you mean? I was in Vienna already.  
\- In fact, I pulled some strings and talked to some acquaintances…So that they invited you to Vienna.  
Aziraphale reflected for a moment and tried to decide whether he was angry with the demon or not.  
-I think it was all planned, Crowley, but not by you -he said finally- I mean it was part of… - Don’t say it – interrupted Crowley.  
With a gesture, he called for Solomon, who produced a delicate basket and offered it to Aziraphale. He extracted a package wrapped in a linen napkin. It was a small cake in the shape of a coiled snake.  
\- The pastry chef made it especially for you, - whispered Crowley- It’s covered with raisins.  
\- Oh, thank you - Aziraphale took a small bite and smiled naughtily – Now I can tell I know what a snake tastes like.  
Crowley looked the other way, uncomfortably.  
\- I can assure you that you don't know it - he drank his wine- Angel, the other day you said that you wanted us to know each other better. Maybe before we return to London, we could visit Buda. It’s not as magnificent as Vienna but they have the best thermal baths…It’s as being boiled in Hell’s…  
\- Shhhh…later – said Aziraphale resuming his binoculars – The opera is about to start.  
Indeed, a thin and sickly man named Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had just appeared at the orchestra pit and was receiving the unanimous applause of the Viennese public. After the warm welcome, Mozart made an affected bow and sat at his fortepiano. The overture began.

**Author's Note:**

> The character of Franz Von Humboldt is fictional, and is in no way related with Alexander Von Humboldt (the famous German geographer and explorer). Franz's surname must be understood as a tribute to the famous naturalist. 
> 
> It is true that Mozart had problems with censorship before releasing his opera "The marriage of Figaro", but apparently, these problems were solved by introducing some changes in the text. No divine or satanic intervention is accredited.


End file.
